


All That Matters

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Series: Story of Faith 'verse [3]
Category: Prison Break
Genre: Community: rounds_of_kink, F/M, Post-Series, kink: shower sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4453970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a fairly large wooden shower hut leaning against the scuba shop. It’s mostly used by shop’s customers, and currently by Sara and Michael. (Post-series, alternate canon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Matters

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Rounds of Kink’s 2015 Summer Heat Mini Round. Kink and prompt: Shower sex, grace

There’s a fairly large wooden shower hut leaning against Lincoln and Michael’s scuba shop. It’s in the open air and basic: three walls made of boards; a swinging double door that doesn’t go all the way up and down, and that you can lock but cannot expect to resist very long if someone shakes it too roughly; a bench offering a plain seat under the shower head, not for comfort but because of the configuration of the hut itself.

It’s mostly used by shop’s customers wanting to rinse the salted water before heading back to their hotel and by whoever works here to freshen up at the end of the day.

And currently by Sara and Michael.

Sara blames it on the sun — it can do strange things to her libido — and on the way Michael has been watching her most of the afternoon — the sun alone wouldn’t have been so effective on her libido without Michael’s eyes trained on her and watching her like he was about to—

She didn’t even need to say anything when she got up from her beach towel and headed to the shower. Michael followed as if magically drawn. He joined her two minutes later and gently kissed her shoulders, her neck, her mouth, all the while getting her out of her bikini.

So she’s naked in front of him and dripping wet in more than one acceptation, fifteen yards away from Lincoln and Sofia and LJ, from Sucre and Alex who are visiting, and she doesn’t care. Her husband is back when she thought she’d lost him for good, and he’s obviously willing to do _anything_ he can to please her.

She jerks her chin at his swim trunks and he pulls them down eagerly. Right. _Anything_ to please her. Or pleasure her — he’s most definitely ready for that. He whispers a velvety “Sara...” and asks her what she wants, how she’d liked it, what he can do to—

“Let me take care of it.”

He blinks his eyes in shock when she firmly pushes him down on the bench, followed by a shit eating grin as she straddles him and sinks onto him. Straightforward and deep inside her in one single motion that has both of them gasping, her at the stretch and the fullness, him at the tight and damp warmth. She’s not subtle, today, she’s certainly not careful, she’s barely gentle; he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

The tepid water running down on them, the sand and the sun that warmed her up all day long are nothing compared to the burning heat pooling in her lap and radiating through her. She clenches around him and arches her back, leaning into his hands as they come up to support her. His mouth trailing on her breasts, he blathers reverently about how beautiful she is, how much he loves her, how good she’s making this, how...

She whimpers, loud and clear, because between two praising whispers, he’s snapped his hips and thrust up, and _fuck_ , but she’s not going to last if he takes it that way.

“Shh,” he breathes out, obviously way too pleased with himself. “They’re going to hear you.”

He is a good man, but an evil husband. Or the other way around, go figure.

“Again,” she demands, and shamelessly utters another whimper when he complies.

She meets him thrust for thrust and squeezes her inner muscles around him, a challenge for him to keep ramping up his game. It works. So well that her whimpers morph into full moans.

“All our guests on the beach. They’re going to hear you,” he insists, eyes sparkling with laughter; and a hint of lust.

“I don’t give a damn.”

He nibbles at her nipple and soothes the tingling sensation with a messy lick of his tongue. It doesn’t help with how vocal she is. “So you want them to know what we’re doing? Know what a naughty—”

He freezes abruptly, his eyes open wide, his hand coming up to gag her and keep inside any sounds she may be tempted to utter. It would be fun, his amused panic, if she wasn’t two strokes and a half away from release. She lifts a questioning eyebrow and he nods at the swinging door behind her.

LJ’s outside. LJ doesn’t look inside the hut because he’s had a good education — it can’t be his father who taught him not to sneak peek on women in showers so it has to be his mother — but he doesn’t seem willing to leave.

“Sara?” he calls out, politely facing away from the door. “You’ve been in here for a while. You okay? And do you know where Uncle Mike is? Fernando’s looking for him.”

With a saucy grin, Sara forces Michael’s hand off her mouth and writhes in his lap. He bites her shoulder to keep quiet and shoves up in retaliation.

“Yes,” she tells LJ in a throaty voice, her eyes holding Michael’s. “To both questions.”

He’s a smart kid, isn’t he? He should be able to add one plus one.

“I... Oh,” he blurts out, understanding dawning on him. “Oh, okay. Sure. I’ll...” There’s embarrassment and amusement in equal parts in his tone. “... go now.”

Sara nods in approbation and presses her mouth against Michael’s ear. “Yes. He should go. So that I can come.”

Michael rolls his eyes benevolently at the pun, but concedes his defeat with good grace. Not caring whether LJ or anyone else can hear their gasps and the slapping of wet flesh against wet flesh, he grips her hips and holds her tight as she rides him, using him for their combined pleasure. His grunts are loud when she shakes with orgasm around him, when he follows her seconds later, when they both lose it.

\- - - - -

“I don’t care”, she tells him.

He’s gently cleaning her, spraying away the last remnants of sweat and other fluids from her breasts and thighs, trying not to stir her up — and himself — again. He’s not entirely succeeding if the way she’s quivering under his fingertips means anything, and the thought pleases him to no end.

“About what?”

“That they heard me. You. Us. That they know what we were doing.”

“I don’t think they did, I was just teasing you. Spicing things up a bit.” Not that things needed that much spicing up. “And I doubt LJ will say anything.”

She shrugs. She’s not brazen, saucy, naughty, suddenly not playing anymore. She looks deep in his eyes, her smile wistful, the kiss she brushes over his lips awkwardly chaste after the way she offered herself, after the way she took him.

“I don’t care. If I want to bang my husband in a shower on the beach, I will bang my husband in a shower on the beach. I deserve it. We both deserve it. I lost you. I got you back — and yes, sometimes I’m a bit vocal about getting you back,” she admits sheepishly. “I got you back. That’s all that matters.”

It occurs to him that the intensity with which she fucked him has the same roots as her pain and her fear, her joy and her relief. He did that to her because of his choices — most of the time his choices were scarce, but they still were his.

He closes his eyes and pulls her into his arms.

He’s pretty sure the lazy flow of water mercifully washes away a couple of tears from his face.

END


End file.
